


A Reminiscence Of Heat

by Harmony



Category: Trinity Blood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-30
Updated: 2013-01-30
Packaged: 2017-11-27 11:52:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/661696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harmony/pseuds/Harmony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The days had blurred faintly with recollections of bodily warmth and contented companionship, the imagined rhythmic pulse of blood pumping, the scent of sweat and moist heat and life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Reminiscence Of Heat

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Воспоминание о тепле](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1403284) by [kkito](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kkito/pseuds/kkito)



> This ficlet was a request from Astellecia, who gave me the prompt "desert". Spoilers for Chapter 32 and beyond. Also posted at [my Livejournal](http://silverharmony.livejournal.com) :) Any feedback would be very much appreciated.

His dream was of a time of innocence, back when the days were as steadily hot as the nights were wintry, when they would lie still together, amidst the ice-cold streams of air, on beds of dry sand. Every sensation was familiar to him: the damp breath against his forehead, the weight of strong arms upon his folded elbow, and the welcomed solace of body heat, mingling in the space between them. They kept each other warm as they slept during those icy desert nights. Radu’s sleeping face was etched in his memory, a picture of stillness and quiet, as everything was then; the younger Methuselah always stayed unmoving with him in silence, content to gaze, on those nights that sleep would not come by.  
  
Ion jerked awake in a cold sweat – and this, where he was sprawled across his hard bed, was his reality.  
  
It had been weeks now. The days had blurred faintly with recollections of bodily warmth and contented companionship, the imagined rhythmic pulse of blood pumping, the scent of sweat and moist heat and life. It was reminiscent to him of the temperate stickiness and vivid sunlight of the deserts during the day, when the sand prickled hotly underneath his footsteps, and clung to the soles of his unshod feet. They had returned to those dunes time and time again, for uncountable years, as though it was the sands there that had birthed them.  
  
His bed, his chambers, the palace, everything, was quiet and cold and dry. It only served to remind him of the deserts during the night – a wide, wide expanse of empty space and sky and a blurred horizon, frosty pale washes of moonlight and too-chilly air.  
  
 _Come closer, Ion. We’ll keep each other warm._  
  
He found himself setting out before he could reason himself not to; those empty days mingled wherein he allowed his feet and not his mind to guide him, and it was nightfall again when he took a step into the wintry dunes, which were exactly as he remembered them. He carefully slid his feet from within his boots. The dry grains of sand were so cold between his toes, against his skin. He gazed around him, at that endless stretch of space.  
  
‘Radu,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ve come back here.’  
  
And his chest was suddenly stinging from that last memory, of the end of the luxury of innocence and days of warmth. Radu had been enveloped in darkness and crumbled into dust; he had gone forever, returning to the sands from which he had come, a chilled and wide, wide motherland.  
  
Slowly, Ion lay himself down upon the ground, his cheek pressed against the rough sand. If he drew his arms closely enough towards himself, but not too close to touch, he could easily imagine that familiar warmth that used to mingle with his own, that body heat, that sensation of existence.  
  
‘I know, I promised my life would get going again,’ he whispered with a smile, his lips coming to a faint tremor. ‘But, just this once … my Tovarish.’  
  
He stayed in unmoving silence, a solitary form surrounded by immeasurable grains of sand, and _him_ : a reminiscence of heat, a fleeting but perfect memory.


End file.
